Gangsta Granny

Dedication

For Philip Onyango… …the bravest little boy I have ever met.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1 - Cabbagy Water

Chapter 2 - A Duck Quacking

Chapter 3 - Plumbing Weekly

Chapter 4 - Mystery and Wonder

Chapter 5 - A Little Broken

Chapter 6 - Cold Wet Egg

Chapter 7 - Bags of Manure

Chapter 8 - A Small Wig in a Jar

Chapter 9 - The Black Cat

Chapter 10 - Everything

Chapter 11 - Cheesy Beans and Sausage

Chapter 12 - The Love Bomb

Chapter 13 - A Lifetime of Crime

Chapter 14 - Nosy Neighbour

Chapter 15 - Reckless and Thrilling

Chapter 16 - ‘N’ ‘O’ Spells ‘NO’

Chapter 17 - Planning the Heist

Chapter 18 - Visiting Hours

Chapter 19 - A Small Explosive Device

Chapter 20 - Boom Boom Boom

Chapter 21 - A Tap-Shoe

Chapter 22 - Lycra Lynch Mob

Chapter 23 - Caught by the Fuzz

Chapter 24 - Dark Waters

Chapter 25 - Haunted by Ghosts

Chapter 26 - A Figure in the Dark

Chapter 27 - An Audience with the Queen

Chapter 28 - Hung, Drawn and Quartered

Chapter 29 - Armed Police

Chapter 30 - A Packet of Sugar

Chapter 31 - Golden Light

Chapter 32 - A Family Sandwich

Chapter 33 - Silence

Chapter 34 - Zimmer Frame

Postscript

Previously by David Walliams:

Copyright

About the Publisher

Thank yous :

I would like to thank a few people who helped me with this book.

First, the hugely talented Tony Ross for his magical illustrations. Next, Ann-Janine Murtagh, the brilliant head of children’s books at HarperCollins. Nick Lake, my hard-working editor and friend. The fantastic designers James Stevens and Elorine Grant, who worked on the cover and text respectively. The meticulous copy editor Lizzie Ryley. Samantha White, for her brilliant work publicising my books. The lovely Tanya Brennand-Roper who produces the audio versions. And of course my very supportive literary agent Paul Stevens at Independent.

Most of all I would like to thank you kids for reading my books. I am genuinely humbled that you come and meet me at signings, write me letters or send me drawings. I really love telling you stories. I do hope I can dream up some more. Keep reading, it’s good for you!

1 Cabbagy Water

“But Granny is soooo boring,” said Ben. It was a cold Friday evening in November, and as usual he was slumped in the back of his mum and dad’s car. Once again he was on his way to stay the night at his dreaded granny’s house. “All old people are.”

“Don’t talk about your granny like that,” said Dad weakly, his fat stomach pushed up against the steering wheel of the family’s little brown car.

“I hate spending time with her,” protested Ben. “Her TV doesn’t work, all she wants to do is play Scrabble and she stinks of cabbage!”

“In fairness to the boy she does stink of cabbage,” agreed Mum, as she applied some last minute lip-liner.

“You’re not helping, wife,” muttered Dad. “At worst my mother has a very slight odour of boiled vegetables.”

“Can’t I come with you?” pleaded Ben. “I love ball-whatsit dancing,” he lied.

“It’s called ballroom dancing,” corrected Dad. “And you don’t love it. You said, and I quote, ‘I would rather eat my own bogeys than watch that rubbish’.”

Now, Ben’s mum and dad loved ballroom dancing. Sometimes Ben thought they loved it more than they loved him. There was a TV show on Saturday evenings that Mum and Dad never missed called Strictly Stars Dancing, where celebrities would be paired with professional ballroom dancers.

In fact, if there was a fire in their house, and Mum could only save either a sparkly gold tap-shoe once worn by Flavio Flavioli (the shiny, tanned dancer and heartbreaker from Italy who appeared on every series of the hit TV show) or her only child, Ben thought she would probably go for the shoe. Tonight, his mum and dad were going to an arena to see Strictly Stars Dancing live on stage.

“I don’t know why you don’t give up on this pipe dream of becoming a plumber, Ben, and think about dancing professionally,” said Mum, her lip-liner scrawling across her cheek as the car bounced over a particularly bumpy speed bump. Mum had a habit of applying make-up in the car, which meant she often arrived somewhere looking like a clown. “Maybe, just maybe, you could end up on Strictly!” added Mum excitedly.

“Because prancing around like that is stupid,” said Ben.

Mum whimpered a little, and reached for a tissue.

“You’re upsetting your mother. Now just be quiet please, Ben, there’s a good boy,” replied Dad firmly, as he turned up the volume on the stereo. Inevitably, a Strictly CD was playing. 50 Golden Greats from the Hit TV Show was emblazoned on the cover. Ben hated the CD, not least because he had heard it a million times. In fact, he had heard it so many times it was like torture.

Ben’s mum worked at the local nail salon, ‘Gail’s Nails’. Because there weren’t many customers, Mum and the other lady who worked there (unsurprisingly called Gail) spent most days doing each other’s nails. Buffing, cleaning, trimming, moisturising, coating, sealing, polishing, filing, lacquering, extending and painting. They were doing things to each other’s nails all day long (unless Flavio Flavioli was on daytime TV). That meant Mum would always come home with extremely long multi-coloured plastic extensions on the end of her fingers.

Ben’s dad, meanwhile, worked as a security guard at the local supermarket. The highlight of his twenty-year career thus far was stopping an old man who had concealed two tubs of margarine down his trousers. Although Dad was now too fat to run after any robbers, he could certainly block their escape. Dad met Mum when he wrongly accused her of shoplifting a bag of crisps, and within a year they were married.

The car swung around the corner into Grey Close, where Granny’s bungalow squatted. It was one of a whole row of sad little homes, mainly inhabited by old people.

The car came to a halt, and Ben slowly turned his head towards the bungalow. Looking expectantly out of the living-room window was Granny. Waiting. Waiting. She was always waiting by the window for him to arrive. How long has she been there? thought Ben. Since last week?

Ben was her only grandchild and, as far as he knew, no one else ever came to visit.

Granny waved and gave Ben a little smile, which his grumpy face just about permitted him to reluctantly return.

“Right, one of us will pick you up tomorrow morning at around eleven,” said Dad, keeping the engine running.

“Can’t you make it ten?”

“Ben!” growled Dad. He released the child lock and Ben grudgingly pushed the door open and stepped out. Ben didn’t need the child lock, of course: he was eleven years old and hardly likely to open the door while the car was driving. He suspected his dad only used it to stop him from diving out of the car when they were on their way to Granny’s house. Clunk went the door behind him, as the engine revved up again.

Before he could ring the bell, Granny opened the door. A huge gust of cabbage blasted in Ben’s face. It was like a great big slap of smell.

She was very much your textbook granny:

“Are Mummy and Daddy not coming in?” she asked, a little crestfallen. This was one of the things Ben couldn’t stand about her: she was always talking to him like he was a baby.

Broom-broom-brroooooooooommm.

Together Granny and Ben watched the little brown car race off, leaping over the speed bumps. Mum and Dad didn’t like spending time with her any more than Ben did. It was just a convenient place to dump him on a Friday night.

“No, erm… Sorry, Granny…” spluttered Ben.

“Oh, well, come in then,” she muttered. “Now, I’ve set up the Scrabble board and for your tea, I’ve got your favourite… cabbage soup!”

Ben’s face dropped even further. Nooooooooooooooooo! he thought.

2 A Duck Quacking

Before long, granny and grandson were sitting opposite each other in deadly silence at the dining-room table. Just like every single Friday night.

When his parents weren’t watching Strictly on TV, they were eating curry or going to the movies. Friday night was their ‘date night’, and ever since Ben could remember, they had been dropping him off with his granny when they went out. If they weren’t going to see Strictly Stars Dancing Live On Stage Live!, they would normally go to the Taj Mahal (the curry house on the high street, not the ancient white marble monument in India) and eat their own bodyweight in poppadums.

All that could be heard in the bungalow was the ticking of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, the clinking of metal spoons against porcelain bowls, and the occasional high-pitched whistle of Granny’s faulty hearing aid. It was a device whose purpose seemed to be not so much to aid Granny’s deafness, but to cause deafness in others.

It was one of the main things that Ben hated about his granny. The others were:

1) Granny would always spit in the used tissue she kept up the sleeve of her cardigan and wipe her grandson’s face with it.

2) Her TV had been broken since 1992. And now it was covered in dust so thick it was like fur.

3) Her house was stuffed full of books and she was always trying to get Ben to read them even though he loathed reading.

4) Granny insisted you wore a heavy winter coat all year round even on a boiling hot day, otherwise you wouldn’t “feel the benefit”.

5) She reeked of cabbage. (Anyone with a cabbage allergy would not be able to come within ten miles of her.)

6) Granny’s idea of an exciting day out was feeding mouldy crusts of bread to some ducks in a pond.

7) She constantly blew off without even acknowledging it.

8) Those blow-offs didn’t just smell of cabbage. They smelled of rotten cabbage.

9) Granny made you go to bed so early it seemed hardly worthwhile getting up in the first place.

10) She knitted her only grandson jumpers for Christmas with puppies or kittens on them, which he was forced to wear during the whole festive period by his parents.

“How’s your soup?” enquired the old lady.

Ben had been stirring the pale green liquid around the chipped bowl for the last ten minutes hoping it would somehow disappear.

It wouldn’t.

And now it was getting cold.

Cold bits of cabbage, floating around in some cold cabbagy water.

“Erm, it’s delicious, thank you,” replied Ben.

“Good.”

Tick tock tick tock.

“Good,” said the old lady again.

Clink. Clink.

“Good.” Granny seemed to find it as hard to speak to Ben as he did to her.

Clink clank. Whistle.

“How’s school?” she asked.

“Boring,” muttered Ben. Adults always ask kids how they are doing at school. The one subject kids absolutely hate talking about. You don’t even want to talk about school when you are at school.

“Oh,” said Granny.

Tick tock clink clank whistle tick tock.

“Well, I must check on the oven,” said Granny after the long pause stretched out into an even longer pause. “I’ve got your favourite cabbage pie on the go.”

She rose slowly from her seat and made her way to the kitchen. As she took each step a little bubble of wind puffed out of her saggy bottom. It sounded like a duck quacking. Either she didn’t realise or was extremely good at pretending she didn’t realise.

Ben watched her go, and then crept silently across the room. This was difficult because of the piles of books everywhere. Ben’s granny LOVED books, and always seemed to have her nose in one. They were stacked on shelves, lined up on windowsills, piled up in corners.

Crime novels were her favourite. Books about gangstas, bank robbers, the mafia and the like. Ben wasn’t sure what the difference between a gangsta and a gangster was, but a gangsta seemed much worse.

Although Ben hated reading, he loved looking at all the covers of Granny’s books. They had fast cars and guns and glamorous ladies luridly painted on them, and Ben found it hard to believe this boring old Granny of his liked reading stories that looked so thrilling.

Why is she obsessed with gangstas? thought Ben. Gangstas don’t live in bungalows. Gangstas don’t play Scrabble. Gangstas probably don’t smell of cabbage.

Ben was a very slow reader, and the teachers at school made him feel stupid because he couldn’t keep up. The headmistress had even put him down a year in the hope that he would catch up on his reading. As a result, all his friends were in a different class, and he felt nearly as lonely at school as he did at home, with his parents who only cared about ballroom dancing.

Eventually, after a hairy moment where he nearly knocked over a stack of real-life crime books, Ben made it to the pot plant in the corner.

He quickly tipped the remainder of his soup into it. The plant looked as if it was already dying, and if it wasn’t dead yet, Granny’s cold cabbage soup was sure to kill it off.

Suddenly, Ben heard Granny’s bum squeaking again as she made her way into the dining room, so he sped back to the table. He sat there trying to look as innocent as possible, with his empty bowl in front of him and his spoon in hand. “I’ve finished my soup, thank you, Granny. It was yummy!”

“That’s good,” said the old lady as she trundled back to the table carrying a saucepan on a tray. “I’ve got plenty more here for you, boy!” Smiling, she served him up another bowl.

Ben gulped in terror.

3 Plumbing Weekly

“I can’t find Plumbing Weekly, Raj,” said Ben.

It was the next Friday, and the boy had been scouring the magazine shelves of the local newsagent’s shop. He couldn’t find his favourite publication anywhere. The magazine was aimed at professional plumbers, and Ben was beguiled by pages and pages of pipes, taps, cisterns, ballcocks, boilers, tanks and drains. Plumbing Weekly was the only thing he enjoyed reading – mainly because it was crammed full of pictures and diagrams.

Ever since he had been old enough to hold things, Ben had loved plumbing. When other children were playing with ducks in the bath, Ben had asked his parents for bits of pipe, and made complicated water channelling systems. If a tap broke in the house, he fixed it. If a toilet was blocked, Ben wasn’t disgusted, he was ecstatic!

Ben’s parents didn’t approve of him wanting to be a plumber, though. They wanted him to be rich and famous, and to their knowledge there had never been a rich and famous plumber. Ben was as good with his hands as he was rubbish at reading, and was absolutely fascinated when a plumber came round to fix a leak. He would watch in awe, as a junior doctor might watch a great surgeon at work in an operating theatre.

But he always felt like a disappointment to his mum and dad. They desperately wanted him to fulfil the ambition they had never managed: to become a professional ballroom dancer. Ben’s mum and dad had discovered their love of ballroom dancing too late to become champions themselves. And, to be honest, they seemed to prefer sitting on their bums watching it on TV to actually taking part.

As such, Ben tried to keep his passion private. To avoid hurting his mum and dad’s feelings, he stashed his copies of Plumbing Weekly under his bed. And he had made an arrangement with Raj, so that every week the newsagent would keep the plumbing magazine aside for him. Now, though, he couldn’t find it anywhere.

Ben had searched for the magazine behind Kerrang and Heat and even looked underneath The Lady (not an actual lady, I mean the magazine called The Lady), all to no avail. Raj’s store was madly messy, but people came from miles away to shop there as he always brought a smile to their faces.

Raj was halfway up a stepladder, putting up Christmas decorations. Well, I say ‘Christmas decorations’ – he was actually putting up a banner that read ‘Happy Birthday’, though he had Tippexed out the word ‘Birthday’ and replaced it in scratchy biro with ‘Christmas’.

Raj carefully stepped down off the ladder to help Ben with his search.

“Your Plumbing Weekly… mmm… Let me think, have you looked beside the toffee bonbons?” said Raj.

“Yes,” replied Ben.

“And it’s not underneath the colouring books?”

“No.”

“And you have checked behind the penny chews?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this is very mysterious. I know I ordered one in for you, young Ben. Mmm, very mysterious…” Raj was speaking extremely slowly, in that way people do when they are thinking. “I am so sorry, Ben, I know you love it, but I don’t have a clue where it is. I do have a special offer on Cornettos.”

“It’s November, Raj, it’s freezing outside!” said Ben. “Who would want to eat a Cornetto now?”

“Everyone when they hear my special offer! Wait until you hear this: buy twenty-three Cornettos, get one free!”

“Why on earth would I want twenty-four Cornettos?!” said Ben with a laugh.

“Erm, well, I don’t know, you could maybe eat twelve, and put the other twelve in your pocket to enjoy later.”

“That’s a lot of Cornettos, Raj. Why are you so keen to get rid of them?”

“They go out of date tomorrow,” said Raj, as he lumbered over to the freezer cabinet, slid open the glass top and pulled out a cardboard box of Cornettos. A freezing cold mist immediately shrouded the shop. “Look! Best Before 15th of November.”

Ben studied the box. “It says Best Before 15th of November 1996.”

“Well,” said Raj. “Even more reason to put them on special offer. OK, Ben, this is my final offer. Buy one box of Cornettos, I will give you ten boxes absolutely free!”

“Really Raj, no thanks,” said Ben. He peered into the freezer cabinet to see what else might be lurking in there. It had never been defrosted and Ben wouldn’t have been surprised to find a perfectly preserved woolly mammoth from the Ice Age inside.

“Hang on,” he said, as he moved a few frost-encrusted ice lollies out of the way. “It’s in here! Plumbing Weekly!”

“Ah yes, I remember now,” said Raj. “I put it in there to keep it fresh for you.”

“Fresh?” said Ben.

“Well, young man, the magazine comes out on a Tuesday, but it’s Friday today. So I put it in the freezer to keep it fresh for you, Ben. I didn’t want it to go off.”

Ben wasn’t sure how any magazine could ever go off, but he thanked the newsagent anyway. “That’s very kind of you, Raj. And I’ll have a packet of Rolos, please.”

“I can offer you seventy-three packets of Rolos for the price of seventy-two!” exclaimed the newsagent with a smile that was meant to entice.

“No thanks, Raj.”

“One thousand packets of Rolos for the price of nine hundred and ninety-eight?”

“No thanks,” said Ben.

“Are you mad, Ben? That’s a wonderful offer. All right, all right, you drive a hard bargain, Ben. One million and seven packets of Rolos, for the price of a million and four. That’s three packets of Rolos absolutely free!”

“I’ll just take one packet and the magazine, thank you.”

“Of course, young sir!”

“I can’t wait to get stuck into Plumbing Weekly later. I have to go and spend the whole night with my boring old granny again.”

It had been a week since Ben’s last visit, and the dreaded Friday had rolled around once more. His parents were going to see a ‘chick flick’, according to his mum. Romance and kissing and all that goo. Yuckety yuck yuck.

“Tut tut tut,” said Raj, shaking his head as he counted out Ben’s change.

Ben instantly felt ashamed. He had never seen the newsagent do this before. Like all the other local kids, Ben regarded Raj as ‘one of us’ not ‘one of them’. He was so full of life and laughter, Raj seemed a world away from parents and teachers and all the grown-ups who felt they could tell you off because they were bigger than you.

“Just because your granny is old, young Ben,” said Raj, “doesn’t mean that she is boring. I am getting on a bit myself. And whenever I have met your granny I have found her to be a very interesting lady.”

“But—”

“Don’t be too hard on her, Ben,” pleaded Raj. “We will all be old one day. Even you. And I’m sure your granny will have a secret or two. Old people always do…”

4 Mystery and Wonder

Ben wasn’t at all sure that Raj was right about Granny. That night it was the same old story. Granny served up cabbage soup, followed by cabbage pie and for dessert it was cabbage mousse. She even found some cabbage-flavoured after-dinner chocolates* somewhere. After dinner, Granny and Ben sat down together on the musty sofa as they always did.

“Scrabble time!” exclaimed Granny.

* Cabbage-flavoured chocolates are not as nice as they sound, and they don’t sound that nice.

Great, thought Ben. Tonight’s going to be a million times more boring than last week!

Ben detested Scrabble. If he had his way, Ben would build a rocket, and blast all the Scrabble boards in the world into outer space. Granny pulled out the dusty old Scrabble box from the sideboard and set up the game on the pouf.

What seemed like decades later, but was probably just hours, Ben stared at his letters, before scanning the board. He had already put down: